


haute cuisine

by alessandriana



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26604271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandriana/pseuds/alessandriana
Summary: For the Hold Me: Comfort fest, and the prompt 'Agent Carter, cooking for someonevery badly.'
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Jack Thompson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20
Collections: Hold Me: A Comfort Prompfest





	haute cuisine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



> Go check out the rest of the promptfest here: https://sholio.dreamwidth.org/1347813.html

The door to the guest room was open just a tad; through the crack Peggy could see Jack slumped against the headboard of the bed, eyes closed. He'd managed to get his shirt untucked and half-unbuttoned, but no further. The dark circles under his eyes seemed more like bruises in the low light, and his hair lay lank across his forehead, brylcreem long having washed out.

Peggy nudged the door open with her foot and said quietly, "Jack?"

He started upright, eyes wild for a moment. Peggy waited until he recognized her before she came in any further.

He laughed a little, voice hoarse, when she set the bowl on the nightstand. "Guests get room service? I'd known that, I'd've come here sooner." He didn't make any move towards the bowl, though.

"Special service, SSR Chiefs only," Peggy said, dropping down onto the bed next to him. The movement sent Jack tipping into her side, so she put her arm around him. Like this, she could feel the fine trembling working its way through his muscles. "How long's it been since you had anything to eat?"

"Hmm." His gaze went abstract for a moment. "Dinner at Callahan's, I think."

That had been two days ago. Peggy picked up the bowl, and when he didn't reach for it, took his hand and forced his fingers to close around it.

"I'm not really hungry--" He paused to stare at the contents, a fine line appearing between his brows. "What _is_ this?"

"Porridge. It's easy on the stomach."

"Porridge-- oatmeal?" His eyebrows went up. It was the most life she'd seen out of him the last hour. "Is it _supposed_ to be that color...?"

Peggy glanced at it, feeling a bit put out. "Looks fine to me."

"It's gray."

"It is not. That's the lighting."

Jack stirred the spoon. "It's as thick as cement."

"Just _eat_ it, Jack. Or I will feed it to you myself."

Jack's shoulders jerked in nearly silent laughter. But he picked up a spoonful and put it in his mouth, so Peggy counted it a victory. He swallowed, and said, "Christ, that's awful. Did you put anything in it but water?"

"I didn't want to try anything fancy."

"Fancy-- _Marge_. A little milk. A little salt and sugar. That's not _fancy_." But he ate another spoonful, and then another. Slowly the shivering started to abate. "I don't know how Daniel survives, if you cook all his meals like this."

"I'll have you know he's the cook of the household, thank you very much."

"I guess that explains why neither of you are dead of food poisoning."

Most of the bowl was gone, and Jack was leaning heavier into her side, eyes sliding closed. Peggy took the bowl back, set it on the nightstand, then pushed him until he was lying back on the pillows. Then she leaned down and started undoing his shoelaces.

"Full service, huh," Jack said, sounding far away.

"I'm not getting you undressed," she said. "Just the shoes."

"Hmph."

"It's a pain to wash dirt out of my nice sheets."

She finished removing them, setting them against the wall where Jack wouldn't trip on them if he had to get up in the night. A swift tug on the lamp switch and the room was bathed in darkness. His eyes had slipped closed, his breathing slowing. But when she tried to stand, his hand caught her around the wrist.

"Peggy..."

She waited, hearing him breathe softly in the dark.

"...maybe some cinnamon."

"Good _night_ , Jack."

She closed the door softly, and pretended she didn't hear the last, quiet, "Thanks."


End file.
